


E Pluribus Unum

by Klayre



Category: No Fandom
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:15:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21863584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Klayre/pseuds/Klayre
Summary: The corrupted angles have rebelled against a God they repulsed creating a new reality, a new world enlaced with hate. All of the Fallen have promised to bring their wrath upon the remaining angels and every creature created by their God, all of them, but one. Argento only wanted to bring pride to his brother Lucifer, proving himself to be worthy of his love, and now he finds himself falling among the Fallen for a blasphemy he doesn't understand. After thousand of years the pain of the exile and the fury for his destiny have torn and ate all he was, making him no less than the other demons. He believes to have became one with his fallen brothers until he meets a human who breaks every belief he had, who manages to see behind the cracks of his lief, bringing back his internal turmoil about his true nature.





	E Pluribus Unum

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my mother tongue so please pardon my mistakes!

It is said that when They plunged them in the deepest of the darkness, in the baleful day in which the angels tried to overthrow Their power, the earth quaked so terribly that all the remaining angels run, hid in desperation and fear, believing to be before the end of all They had created. It is said that the blasphemies and the screams of the Fallen were so heinous and seething with hate that colors and even the light itself vanished, trying to find a place where such blood cooling sounds couldn't reach them, trying to obscure a scene so horrifying that no eyes deserved to witness. It is said that They had never been seen so enraged, the semblance of a tender god lost in Their anger, the kind love of a Creator towards Their most beautiful creation swept away by fury and desperation. The idyllic atmosphere of the Heaven lost in grief. Every angel and every living creature understood with horror what was happening, what that infected wound meant: the Heaven had lost its innocence, the candid spirit of what it portrayed stained with a dark blood, a poison which burned trough skin, soul, heart. On that day, a new world was being created, a new conception, a new belief born from torn minds and loathing, repugnance, wrath for everything that had been before. The Angels looked at their brothers and sisters falling closer and closer to the hole on the earth through shaking hands while a burdensome feeling sunk in their hearts: nothing would be the same. Between the few who had the courage to look spired the first angel to plead the Fallen to march back and to reconsider, and the first one to wield his sword: the Archangel Michael. He felt his soul so heavy, so destroyed he was afraid he could lose it, he felt his hand dirty, both with the blood of the ones he once loved and with his own; he had marched against them, against his brothers and sisters, he fought and hit, was he still good? Was he better than them? Why was he feeling a darkness he had never felt grasping for him if he was on the good side? But they had made their decision, they had been the ones to live Their halo, to turn their backs to him and that ate every spec of light around his soul. And it was with a single tear falling on the earth, following the Fallen that he saw the laceration on the ground closing hiding all of the Fallen from his eyes. No more blasphemies, no more writhing bodies. A heavy silence fell feel all over Their creation, nothing moved, nothing sounded, everything grieved. All the angels and They themselves hoped to see the ground opening letting one of the corrupted souls come back to them, repenting, but the slash never did and slowly what was a painful beginning became habit, a new creature was created to fill the hole left in Their spirit, a creature who didn't have the angels powers and that was so fragile that would have always came back to Them in need for something, a creature so fragile but spectacular that could die and come back to their Creators. But, the angels and They didn't know that between the Fallen, one angel was crying, torn, looking at his home burning away.  
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He was falling. He had been falling for a time that he couldn't comprehend. It was a sensation that didn't belong to him, it frightened him. He had never been afraid of the nothingness under him, of the sensation of being up in the air, it was a part of himself in the end. But now his wings weren't responding to him, his arms were frantically grasping the air, his curly dark hair was whipping his face, every single part of his body felt empty, broken pushed and tossed by the air. He wanted to scream and call for the other Fallen but he felt as if everything in him had turned off, he was empty, alone in his mind. Why? Why was all this happening? He asked himself looking up, where did they go wrong? He could sense the blasphemies of the angels around him, but he couldn't understand the words, they felt muted and far away. What was happening? What was going on? He blinked once, the air on his face bloody cold. Only a few moments before he was meeting with his brother, Lucifer, to talk about his grand project. Oh, that name, the angel's soul pounded painfully inside him at the thought of that him. The falling angel was the youngest among them and Lucifer felt to him as a big brother, a torch in the darkness, the missing piece of all his thoughts. He would have done everything for him, including following him into his reckless, stupid plan to overthrow their Creator. But the young angel couldn't help but be filled with warmth every time he heard Lucifer talk about his ideals, he couldn't help but wonder how he could become like him, so strong, so sure about himself. How could an angel so beautiful be wrong? He thought that possibility could never happen, it was impossible for Lucifer to be wrong, ever, but then why was this happening? Why was he feeling like every piece of what composed him was being torn apart? How could he have missed his brother's souls turn to the darkness? Had he been so blinded by love? He was scared and he was afraid that this time Lucifer wouldn't be there for him. Him? His soul stopped shivering. The air screaming in his ears became suddenly silent. Who was he? He gasped for air. He didn't know. He couldn't remember. The angel arched his back in pain, veins surging upon his neck. This couldn't possibly be real. His eyes got wider. Then he tried what he was so afraid of. And he tried again and again failing. He couldn't remember his name, the word which held all of him was gone, it prickled at the bottom of his neck, biting furiously his skin but it wouldn't come out. He had lost himself, now it was clear. So he screamed, he screamed while his beautiful white wings ached and lost their feathers, while they burned and exposed their now raw and bloody flesh. He had lost himself. He had lost himself forever. He gasped for air, his body aching, his face painted in horror, and then he screamed, he screamed all of his pain and anger, all the darkness inside him, he united his voice with the others of the Fallen in a choir of venomous blasphemies. How could their Creators produce so much pain? How could wanting only happiness for your brother be a crime? The young angel could feel his soul corrupting, his self being corroding with anger, and he didn't care, for once, he had already lost everything and now it was the angels who didn't suffer to feel like he was feeling. The only thing that he could see before being eaten by the ground was the only tear that he had shed reflecting a ray of the sun, and then only darkness. That one tear clashed with another one, falling from far above, the last touch between two specular worlds now divide forever.


End file.
